in the heart of you
by bravevulnerability
Summary: 'She said it herself, it isn't fair, it doesn't erase what she's done, the new scars she's carving, but his love for her will always trump all else. His need to have her - in any way she will allow - will always win. It always has.' Another post-ep for 8x02, XX. For the tumblr anon.


**A/N:** **Written for the tumblr anon who prompted:**

 _They have to be missing each other like crazy, physically speaking. But Beckett has "rules" about what they are and are not allowed to do and say when Castle visits her. Castle doesn't like these rules._

 **I deviated from the prompt quite a bit, spun it a little too far in a different direction, but if you're reading this, anon, I still hope it's somewhat satisfactory for you.**

* * *

Her ring is still in place. It's the first thing he notices and it eases the nerves ricocheting through his chest. It isn't as if they're over. She may have left him, but she had still kissed his mouth, still whispered her love against his lips and stained them with her tears, and never withdrew the ring from her left hand. Still hasn't.

They are far from over.

She is still his wife, even if he hasn't seen her in a full two weeks. Seventeen days, to be precise. Seventeen _long_ days.

"How - are you okay?" he opens with and it's lame, strained to even his own hearing, but well, what else is he supposed to say?

 _Are you better now? Is your head right? Can you come home to me again?_

At least this question, she may actually answer.

Kate forces a smile for him, for the graciousness he shows her despite the choices she's made that have left a gaping hole in his chest.

"Been better." Beckett shrugs, standing from the office chair of his 'secret room'. He had nearly sent his coffee fountaining into the ceiling when he had walked in to find her sitting there, waiting on him, almost convincing him that it was nothing more than a dream. Wouldn't be the first time since she left. "How-"

"Where have you been?" he asks before she can show him the same courtesy. She doesn't need to know how he's been doing, not when the answer would only deepen the frown lines carved like parenthesis around her mouth.

Kate clasps her fingers - they're unsteady, he notices, the gleam of her wedding band shimmering under the low lighting - in front of her, leans back against the edge of his desk.

"With an agent in D.C, working to-"

"An agent?" he repeats, images of her running around with some rugged man in black shooting flares of indignation through his bloodstream. She can't be with him, her husband, but she can hang with some mystery man-

"Yes, she's been involved since the beginning of this case," Kate replies, narrowing her eyes on him, placing emphasis on that first pronoun. "And she has more practice, more resources on how to handle this the right way. On how to put an end to it all."

"Is it finished?" he questions, his jealousy quieting as his hope begins to stir and roar, twining with fleeting desperation when her eyes fall to his shoes. "Kate."

"Almost," she whispers, raising eyes to him to plead for that same forgiveness she had begged for nearly three weeks ago, but his heart is still raw and he turns away from the salt she throws in his wound. "Castle-"

"Why are you even here then?" he snaps, spinning on his heel and approaching where she stands at his desk, her eyes dry but her lashes fluttering with the rapid blinks he knows are keeping the tears at bay.

"I - I needed to see you."

He laughs at that, the sound hollow and bitter and scraping its way up his throat. "At least one of us has the privilege of making that choice."

"Rick, I'm not doing this to hurt you, to ruin-"

But he can't listen to the reasons, the excuses for why she had to run out on him, embark on this mission solo; he doesn't want them, only wants one thing she can't give him. Won't.

"I want my wife back!" He hadn't intended to yell at her, the boom of his voice echoing in the soundproof room, but Kate doesn't startle, understanding in her eyes and something like… resolve?

"I'm here right now," she murmurs, reaching for his hips with those trembling fingers that flutter just above the waistband of his slacks, and god, even through the barrier of his clothes, he can feel the heat of her touch again and it - it's too much.

"We're not - this isn't some arrangement," he states, catching her hands, pinning them to his sides. "You don't get to make every decision, Beckett."

Her pupils dilate at the slice of his tongue over her surname.

"It's - it's not enough," she agrees, her body canting away from the desk and into his, the length of her brushing against him. "But it's temporary."

"I don't want temporary," he growls, the grind of his teeth making his jaw ache.

Kate sighs, her exhaustion palpable, and beneath his anger, his hurt, he tries to imagine what the last seventeen days have been like for her. If being on the run is as draining as he imagines, as they once experienced together over a year ago, when Bracken had a target on her back. He wonders if she lies awake at night like he does, if she misses him or if her mind is overtaken by the mission, her all-consuming obsessive nature. Does he even have a place in her thoughts anymore? Was there ever room for him to begin with or have they been fooling themselves this entire time?

Was Bracken right?

"The killer is still out there, there are still threats that need to be contained," she mumbles, her words as hollow and tired as he feels. "And it isn't fair, I know it isn't fair, Rick. But I will do everything in my power to protect you, protect this."

Her hands slides up from beneath the cover of his, trailing along the rails of his ribs until her fingers splay across his breastbone, over his heart.

"You're breaking it," he gets out before he can think better of it, the sentence clawing past his lips without his permission and striking her like a blow.

An unsteady breath hitches in her chest, rattling her ribs, but her lips purse with that same resolution he once admired, that scares him now.

"As long as it keeps beating."

A declaration about having nothing to beat for making the damn thing worthless is on his tongue, but it fades to ashes, a bitter taste in his mouth that he needs to erase.

Her fingers snag and curl in his shirt when he kisses her, relief bleeding through his system when she shows no protest, her entire body melting into his instead, deflating with gratitude before surging with ardor. Her mouth parts on a sigh, the hand not fisted over his pulverized heart gliding up to drape at the side of his neck, fingers curling there as if to draw him closer, and he doesn't hesitate.

The backs of her thighs collide with the edge of his desk once more and her legs immediately open for him, thighs blooming apart to coax him in even further, welcoming him into the coveted haven of her body and cradling him the embrace of her limbs. Kate whimpers against the seal of his lips over hers, the urgency bubbling in the back of her throat and strong enough for him to taste, for him to feel it spreading from their kiss to encompass her.

"I miss you, I've missed you so much, Castle," she whispers, a raw and needy thing that is so unlike her, so wrong, and he wants to tell her to stop, to just _stop_ missing him. But he knows it will fall on deaf ears. So he uses his hands instead.

Kate gasps into his mouth, clenches her fingers in his hair when he hoists her onto the edge of the desk, cradles her jaw in his palms and holds her steady, gentles her with his kiss until the frenzied thump of her pulse beneath his hand slows into something less panicked.

If they're going to do this, rendezvous in his office like this is some forbidden romance, they're going to do it his way.

A low whine builds in her throat as his hands trail down her sides, stealing beneath her shirt while his lips reacquaint themselves with the harsh line of her jaw, the pillar of her throat, dipping his tongue into the hollow space that has her hips jerking into his, pulling twin moans from them both.

"Castle," she pleads, her hips arching forward in a shallow thrust that he forces himself to ignore despite the bright burn of friction, channeling all of his concentration into easing thin black sweater over her head. Her breasts strain against the cups of her bra, the black cotton a stark contrast to her pale skin and rigid bones, but the still healing scar decorating her side calls to him first, the puckering flesh red and angry.

"Have you been taking care of this?" he questions, tracing his thumb over the jagged strip of skin that she had stitched back together herself, noticing her abdomen contract and her diaphragm stutter beneath the graze of his fingertip.

"Yes," she answers, a little breathless, and he's certain all of the air leaves her lungs the moment he leans in, brushes his lips over the injury, paying it the same attention he has to every other sign of survival she has donned over the years.

Kate's fingers unfurl from the knots they've made in his hair, branching out to spread along his scalp, combing incessantly through the locks as he feathers his lips along her quivering abdominals, nipping at her navel and traveling up the path of her sternum, nuzzling the swell of her breast.

"No, no," she mewls, attempting to tug him back to her mouth. "Don't make it - don't go slow," she pleads and he rears back from her, the rage climbing up the rungs of his ribs, spilling hot and thick through his chest.

"Don't go slow?" he echoes, his voice like stone and through the lust consuming her pupils, he can already see the apology brimming gold along the edges, but he doesn't want to hear that either. "You think this is going to be some quick fuck, Beckett? Is that the only reason you came here?"

" _No,_ " she cries, the arms at his shoulders cinching, clinging. "It's not even - God, Rick, it's not about sex. I came here because these last two weeks... I just - I thought it would be easier. For both of us. For now."

"Easier," he scoffs the word like a curse. There have been quite a few instances in the last eight years where this woman has ripped his heart out, shot anger through his veins and left him feeling utterly hopeless, but he doesn't believe the combination of the three has ever been this strong. Doesn't think he's ever hated how much he loved her like he does right now. "Nothing about this is easy. You've taken every decision into your own hands, Kate. Didn't even give me a chance..." His heart is beginning to crack again, the temporary dam he built to keep it all at bay beginning to collapse again. The overwhelming anguish filling her eyes, spilling onto her cheeks isn't helping. "Right now, I'm going to do what I want."

"Then make love to me," she decides, knocking her forehead into his, unbuttoning the dress shirt from his body with practiced skill and splaying her hands over his bare skin once the material hangs from his shoulders. "Give me something beautiful to hold onto until this is all over."

He gives himself just a moment, allows the grief to catch like a hook in his chest, slicing through.

What if it's never over?

Castle reaches around, unhooks her bra and allows the simple lingerie to fall loose around her shoulders, trapped between them, and grazes his fingers down the bowed line of her spine, smoothing over each knob of her vertebrae, memorizing the warmth of her skin, the scent of her beneath the layer of remorse she carries.

He wants so badly to be with his wife again, badly enough to sacrifice his pride, his fury, the will to fix them for just a while longer. Just let him have her first, let him have her back if only for a matter of hours.

* * *

"Come home," he mumbles into the damp skin just below the sharp ridge of her collarbone. Sharper than he remembers.

Kate doesn't answer, curling further into his embrace, sinking deeper into his lap where he cradles her in his leather office chair. Late afternoon has turned to night and though little has been solved, it's the closest to peace he's felt in seventeen long days. He can almost pretend it's just a normal evening, that they'd had nothing more than a minor fight that blew up into her storming out of the loft for to blow off some steam, that the two rounds of slow, breath stealing sex they had on his desk, in his chair, were simply the result of a glorious make up.

But the fantasy fades when Kate drops a kiss to his bare shoulder as she untangles from his arms, her eyes already scanning the floor for her clothes. His heart sinks back into the acid of his stomach when she slips from his lap, steps into her pants and shrugs on her shirt, keeping her eyes on her hands the entire time.

She returns to lean over him before she departs, cups his face and dusts a kiss over one of his eyes, his mouth.

"Soon."

And then she disappears. Again.

* * *

Another week passes, a second after that, marking a month since she left him. An entire month of questions unanswered and his heart aching with every other beat, except for the days he sees her.

She texts him from a burner phone, a single word like a code to signal that the coast is clear, that she's waiting in the secret sector of his empty office. It doesn't make sense, why his P.I office of all places is apparently the only location she can spend time with him without fearing for his safety, the only place she can be with him without believing she's stringing a target to his back. But he doesn't question it.

She said it herself, it isn't fair, it doesn't erase what she's done, the new scars she's carving, but his love for her will always trump all else. His need to have her - in any way she will allow - will always win. It always has.

The second time, he finds her waiting for him with a weary smile and dark circles beneath her eyes, guilt swirling through the murky greens. He holds her for a while, settled in his office chair with his wife in his lap, her head on his shoulder and her lips fluttering against his throat, speaking endlessly about a future, about how much their relationship means to her, about the "happily ever after" she refuses to give up on.

That is always her main point, he takes note of, to reassure him that she is not giving up, that being away from him is not what she wants even if it is what she chose, that she loves him. Always loves him.

"Will you be able to forgive me for this?" she asks once her words have trailed into unfinished sentences and sad sighs.

He hadn't interrupted, not once, even when the urge to argue or speak his own piece had risen up in his chest. Trying to convince her to abandon her cause, to see the light, was a tiring endeavor that showed no reward, only struck an increase in her tears and his ever growing sorrow.

She asked for his forgiveness three weeks ago, the night she walked out of their home and didn't look back, whispered the plea against his lips after that last 'I love you'. The fact of the matter is, Kate Beckett could wound him in every way imaginable (she's certainly acquiring quite the tally, isn't she?), and it may not always be easy, it sure as hell won't be this time, but he will always grant her his forgiveness.

He will always fight just as brutally for their happily ever after as she does.

Rick squeezes her hunched shoulder, grazing his thumb over the fabric of her blouse, and mumbles his response into her hair. "You already know the answer."

* * *

The third meeting, he's already in his office when she appears in the middle of the night, an untouched glass of Scotch in his hand. She replaces it with a to go cup of coffee and stares down at him in concern.

"I hadn't texted you."

"I just hoped you would show," he shrugs, careful not to spill the steaming beverage when Kate descends into the acquired safe haven of his lap. He doesn't mind, his arms banding around her body out of reflex, sparing a moment to relish in the steady beat of her heart. _As long as it keeps beating_. "I miss you."

"Forgive me," she murmurs automatically, and he's growing to hate those words.

"Come home."

"Soon."

It's the same conversation, the same, tired, pointless exchange of words they've had each time since she disappeared. Castle smears a kiss to her forehead, closes his eyes and listens to her heartbeat, cherishes the thrum of it against his chest for the rest of the night.

It's the last time he's allowed the opportunity.

* * *

Rick grumbles under his breath at the pressure on his shoulder, the gentle shake of a hand. He isn't ready to wake, isn't ready to face another day, not yet. The shaking stops and he sighs, nuzzles her pillow that he should really just give in and wash already, but it smells like her, like cherries and vanilla, and he doesn't want to lose that too.

Castle buries his frown in the fabric, too tired for the onslaught of his usual brooding, and relaxes into the memory foam of the mattress, offers himself back to slumber.

But whomever has chosen to disturb him this morning is proving relentless and he grunts at the tug of the covers from his back, but peels his eyes open at the warm press of a body along his spine, a knee sliding between his, an arm snaking around his torso-

"Kate," he croaks, untangling from her full body embrace to push up on his elbows, twisting around to find her lying beside him in their bed, her bottom lip pinned by her teeth and her eyes shimmering in the morning light, nerves flickering in the corners. "This better not be a dream."

Her lips curve into a tentative smile at that, and then she's joining him, rising on her elbows for leverage to reach for him.

"Not a dream," she rasps the promise, hooking an arm around his neck and inching closer, but Rick sits up, drags her with him, drags her into his lap and tries not to crush her ribcage with the arms he wraps around her.

"Is it over?" he asks, because it has to be over, right? Whatever demons she went chasing, dragons that needed slaying, must all be taken care of for her to be here, right?

But she shakes her head and the horror surges up his throat.

"No, but I'm - I'm done. Done trying to do anything without you," she confesses, withdrawing only far enough to meet his stinging eyes with her own. "This past month, I proved how pointless it all was anyway, didn't I?"

His mouth is dry, his tongue heavy, but he manages to form his lips around the question, "What do you mean?"

"I was supposed to do it alone, chose to dive down that rabbit hole, into the darkness without you," she explains, scoffing self-deprecatingly as she has to wipe at her eyes before the tears can even accumulate. "But I couldn't. I had to come see you even though I knew it was putting you at risk, had to be with you to feel like I could - could breathe again. You were right."

"I was?" he mumbles, still a bit too dazed by the way this morning is going to follow her train of thought, what she's trying to tell him.

"Together. We can figure out anything together, like always. Always better together."

"Duh, Beckett."

She chokes on a laugh, her body still shaking like the quivering wire of her voice.

"Can I come home, Castle?" she whispers against his cheek, her nose nudging into the slash of bone. "Can you - will you take me back?"

A laugh, incredulous and just a little hysterical, spills past his lips and he turns his head, smears a bruising kiss to her mouth in prelude.

"As if you even have to ask," he breathes, unthinkingly rocking them both back in forth in the middle of a bed that has been half empty for too long. "You hurt me-"

"Oh Rick," she whispers, her voice so strangled and watery, breaking his own heart all over again as he quiets her. Not done yet.

"You know you hurt me," he amends, curling a hand at the back of her neck, smoothing his thumb back and forth along the base of her skull. "But I will always forgive you. Always love you no matter what happens."

Her knees bracket his hips and squeeze in unison with the arms around his neck, clinging to him. "I'll make it up to you," she swears, smudging her lips to the hinge of his jaw. "Spend every second making it up to you."

He knows she will, doesn't doubt that Kate Beckett will put in the work, devote her entire being to mending what she's broken, to regaining his trust, and he knows it won't be easy, knows that fixing them will be a process, and he's ready for it. But right now, with his wife back in his arms, back in their home again for the first time in a month and three days, he reasons that just once, they can postpone tackling their issues for another hour.

Castle rolls her over with a great amount of care, still cautious of her healing bullet wound, that puckered red skin that he yearns to tend to, and savors the glorious sight of her hair wild and splayed over their pillows, of her pale skin bathed in the glow of light bleeding through the windows, of her eyes wet but gazing up at him with so much love, it steals his breath.

"Start right now," he husks, his heart already galloping into a stampede when her hands slide beneath his t-shirt and her mouth captures his in a kiss that finally tastes like home.


End file.
